Solitaire
by RobinRocks
Summary: Cardverse!AU: The ruthless Queen of Spades builds a fitting kingdom for his king by capturing the other Suits - but the King of Spades remains the first prisoner he ever took. USUK. Oneshot.


I wanted to post this yesterday – 1st of October – because anyone who has hung around me and my profile for at least a year will know that I love Halloween and that I officially begin to spazz out about it upon this date. Basically I intended to post this fic especially to remind everyone that IT WAS THIRTY DAYS UNTIL HALLOWEEN.

However, I wasn't able to get this finished yesterday as I was busy and also was distracted by _Family Guy_ and _American Dad!_ – a common occurrence, it must be said – so... here we are today instead. The 2nd of October. Which is hardly a complaining point since it is now only TWENTY-NINE DAYS UNTIL HALLOWEEN. :3

ON THIS:

First: A lot of people have been tackling the gorgeous cardverse!AU (based on the images on the playing cards which came with Himaruya's _Axis Powers Hetalia_ artbook _Arte Stella_) in both fic and artwork and, hey, I'm as game for a fandom bandwagon as much as the next person; however, I don't like to do _exactly_ what all the cool kids are doing *pushes up hipster glasses* so I thought I'd try and give my take a little bit of a (historical!type) twist. The result is a weird pseudo-fairytale-type-thing, I guess. o.O

Second: DAMN IT, HAKU! :U (And sorry, Narroch! I did try to listen to your "advice", lololol~)

Solitaire

A single star glints brightly as it tumbles over the edge of the basket, fluttering out beneath the checkered blue-and-white cloth tucked into the woven walls. There are many more of them, nestling amid the infinite seas of sapphires and loveless bloods of rubies, the cold and lonely moons of pearls and entire sweet rugged summers captured in little slivers of raw gold – these stars, fallen from a peppermint sky, are brighter still than the sharp glaciers of diamonds they are buried between, quivering captives sparkling their pleas.

This fallen star is lost in the undergrowth of ringlet roots and blue brush; the Queen of Spades has no time to spare to search for mislaid spoils, deeply invested in leading his merry dance. All the night is azure, the canvas of the sky, the pointed leaves on the twisted trees, the raw and upturned earth; the ghostly plumes of clouds, the smile of the moon, the blush of the horizon – and everything in between, too, including the queen and his train. He has eyes of emerald and hair of gold like the gathered wealth in his wicker basket and is clad entirely in that coveted and uniform blue, rich velvets and gleaming silks, linen and leather and lace.

—And he leads a _merry dance_ _indeed._ He heads the coil of it like the skull of a deadly snake, tripping through the palace grounds with a certain music in his fairytale step, a twisted and timeless medievality like the Danse Macabre (leading on, leading on—)

The palace looms into view and Arthur Kirkland, the Queen of Spades, slides the handle of his basket up to his elbow, cradling it. His precious king will appreciate the effort he has gone to. These little treats to spoil him are always welcome, after all.

(With a glance at his other treasure, though, he admits that dear Wang Yao might not be so pleased with the extra work.)

They reach the pool, completely still and serene like a sheet of glass. Beneath its breathless surface lie his previous prizes, his battlefield rewards and stolen riches; bathed in a true, deep blue, sleeping and senseless in enchanted waters, are all his captives so far. His collection, so to speak – his slow and laborious gift to his king.

He has one full set: The Diamonds. The king, Francis Bonnefoy, lies flanked either side by his queen and his jack, Lili and Vash Zwingli. They all have hair like the sun and wear those colours, too, oranges and reds and golds, emulating the Eastern promise of a new day. He has others from this Suit, too, including courtiers Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, Lovino Vargas and the king's favourite, Matthew Williams.

He has had them the longest, Francis his very first captive. Back then it had simply been a war; but then he had won and taken the Court of Diamonds as his prisoners, thinking them pretty prizes. Soon after, growing obsessed with the thought of collecting more, it became not about war and conquest but about taking the other courts to be part of a growing set.

In green he has the Queen and Jack of Clubs, Elizaveta Héderváry and Roderich Edelstein, and several Baltic and Nordic court favourites. He is missing their king, Ivan Braginsky, who bubbles like a molten emerald and keeps his distance, fiercely guarded by his sisters.

Of the crimson-clad Hearts, he brings his first addition. Another glance back at the glass bower carried by his blue attendants informs him that the Queen of Hearts, Honda Kiku, is deep under his spellbound sleep and shows no signs of waking. The Hearts have been difficult; the King, Ludwig Beilschmidt, is resilient and strong, a patient and worthy opponent. The Jack, Feliciano Vargas, is comparatively weak and stupid, easily captured were it not for Ludwig's protection. Kiku, too, as always been difficult to single out, usually careful and quiet about himself – but today he was unlucky and fell prey at long last to the Queen of Spades.

In the middle of the pool is a platform of smooth, white marble and at its centre a throne of wrought gold studded with sapphires and blue diamonds and midnight-coloured plush velvet. The King of Spades sits here while his queen is away, awaiting his return in a senseless stupor of his own. The king, you see, is as enchanted as the captives he guards – for he rebelled once, a long time ago, before he was king, and the queen has never trusted him since (but it is safe to leave him if he is under a spell).

Leaving his attendants to deal with putting the Queen of Hearts in his resting place, Arthur steps onto the first of the flat, round stones across the pool. He checks his pocket watch as he does so, pleased to see that – as usual – the hands stop moving the moment he is beyond the edge of the water. Time is frozen here, preserving his possessions in ageless sleep; and as for his darling king...

"Alfred, I brought you another present," he says smoothly, reaching the platform. He bows low to the child perched on the seat of that too-big throne. "The Queen of Hearts. And, of course..." He holds out the basket. "I would not have returned to you without something sweet."

"I wish you would not stay gone so long, all the same," Alfred replies, smiling; his eyes open fully and brighten like a blooming flower at first light, the very core of all this blue (and bluer still than even the pool encircling his most regal seat).

He gets down off the throne as Arthur rises again, feeling for his hand. Here, he is autonomous only as long as Arthur is in his presence; deprived of his queen and he is good only for sitting like an ornament, the crown jewel of the Queen of Spades' Solitaire.

He is, after all, the most precious treasure of them all.

In the castle grounds, the King of Spades – Alfred F. Jones – has the body of a child. It is a deception, another of the queen's spells to shape the world the way he wishes, and in part it is a punishment for Alfred's defiance all those years ago, an insurance that he will never try to break his queen's heart again. Within the castle itself, the Court of Spades in flesh, the spell breaks and the spade-shaped watch hanging daintily from Alfred's pocket begins to move again, granting him back his true physical age. The Queen of Spades has uses for both versions of his king – but not for his memories nor his ability to revolt, both of which he wears himself around his neck.

Alfred's hair is golder than anyone's, putting even the crown resting at his slender brow to tarnished shame; he wears nothing but blue, knee-length shorts and a crisp shirt and a velvet tunic, the silk tie at his collar knotted about a deep jewel still only half as blue as his eyes.

He has a look in the basket before he will be tempted by Arthur's gift of the Queen of Hearts, stealing away one of the glittering stars and popping it into his mouth with a grin.

"Now don't spoil your appetite for our picnic," Arthur chides mildly, putting the checked cloth back over. "Tell me what you think of your present. Honda Kiku was difficult to capture."

"Thank you, Arthur," Alfred chimes, plucking at the cloth again.

Arthur moves the basket away from him, sighing.

"Perhaps later, then," he murmurs. He puts out his hand for Alfred to take and Alfred slips his spellbound-small one into it, allowing Arthur to lead him away from the platform and over the pool with its dreamless prisoners lying still beneath its surface.

They settle beneath a tree with branches stretching towards the clear sky, all dappled shades of cerulean coming through the pointed leaves; they sit on the blue-and-white cloth and Arthur allows Alfred free reign of the basket. They are strange creatures, all of them, designed for conquest over one another and sustained by the physical manifestation of war spoils. Weaponry and books are staple but more delicious still are jewels and other fine, rare things – a victory will be followed by the gorging of plunder and all that they swallow up becomes theirs. With this, whole cultures and languages and customs are devoured – and it is the mark of a powerful Empire to have a belly heavily laden with won riches.

For the Queen of Spades, however, things are a little more complicated. Once upon a time, before he crowned Alfred as his king, his young charge had grown disgusted by his early imperial wantings and tried to break away with the help of the Court of Diamonds. Arthur, who loved Alfred deeply and obsessively even then, had crushed his little rebellion, defeated the Diamonds and put Alfred under the spell to tie them together forever. He had always planned to make Alfred his king when he was old enough; with him enchanted, he had crowned him and taken it upon himself to make his preparations. Alfred was strong – or had the potential to be, at least, and Arthur felt that he should rule over everyone, not simply the Spades. After first defeating the Diamonds, Arthur had been intoxicated by his _own_ strength and decided to use it to capture for his king the full Solitaire set to preside over. Presently, despite being only the Queen of Spades, Arthur was the most powerful person in all of the courts, building up an empire which he planned to bequeath to Alfred when it was complete.

With this in mind, Arthur brings home all of his spoils to Alfred, allowing him to choose first. He will eat next and then bring the basket to Yao.

He pulls out the cork stopper of the bottle filled with liquid gold and reaches for the two teacups he brought with him, pouring a generous amount into each. He reaches into the basket and plucks out a few tiny stars, dropping them into Alfred's cup as he passes it over.

Only kings may eat stars and only queens may catch them.

"Arthur," Alfred says conversationally after a mouthful of his drink, "what do you think will happen when you manage to collect everyone from every Suit?"

"I don't know," Arthur replies dryly. "World peace, perhaps?"

Alfred giggles, puts down his teacup and fishes in the basket for an emerald.

"You're so funny," he chirps. "Say 'ahhh'."

Arthur obediently opens his mouth and Alfred crawls over to put the gem on his tongue. Emeralds have a spice to them, a certain sort of sharp candied zest. They aren't his favourite – he prefers pearls because they taste of the sea – but Alfred seems to think that he should eat them because they match his eyes.

Alfred likes gold best – and diamonds are a favourite of his, too, but both of these come second to stars. Arthur has no idea what they taste like because he cannot swallow them, all he can do is call them down from the sky into his open palm, but Alfred always gobbles them down first and lies with a contented smile on his face after he has eaten them.

He doesn't much care for books, though, and turns his nose up at the one Arthur is nibbling at – a Japanese volume filled with beautiful pictures of pink-and-gold koi carp that Arthur took from Kiku's person on capturing him. The flavour is full, fresh, a little sweet and a little salted all at once, and the new language dances on the tip of his tongue.

"Well," Arthur says, stroking at Alfred's hair as the boy snuggles up against his side, full and sated and sleepy, "there was a sword, too. Gorgeous thing, really. You can have it later."

Alfred nods, closing his eyes, and Arthur lets him sleep.

He aches for the castle, though; for his box of secret spoils he keeps for himself and for the feel of his king's body against his own.

—

Alfred never notices the changes between his body; or, at least, he never mentions it. Stepping into the high, vast entrance hall to the Court of Spades, Alfred is now a good head taller than his dangerous little queen, even his clothing taking on a different shape about his body. His long coat flaps behind him as he instinctively reaches into his pocket for his glasses, pulling them out and giving them a quick polish on his tie before slipping them on and blinking down at Arthur.

"Did you get shorter?" he asks mildly; and Arthur smiles because that's what Alfred _always_ asks.

"I suppose I must have," he replies with a smirk; he leans up to kiss his king and Alfred is happy to oblige, curling his fingers into the soft hair at the nape of Arthur's neck.

Alfred tastes of the sweet fullness of gold, his kiss gleaming with it, and Arthur licks his bottom lip as he pulls back. Then he takes Alfred's hand and kisses it, too.

"Your Majesty," he murmurs delightedly against Alfred's skin.

Alfred wrinkles his nose.

"Don't call me that," he says. "Just my name, please, queenie."

"Fine." Arthur kisses his hand again, bowing low this time. "_Alfred_."

"Knock it off." Alfred takes his hand back and points at the basket. "You should probably bring that up to Yao, I bet he's starving."

"Of course."

"Oh," Alfred adds hopefully, "but check there aren't any more stars in there. I think I dug them all out but..."

Arthur looks, dabbling in the cold gemstones in search of that bright glitter.

"No," he replies, "you ate them all, I'm afraid."

Alfred pouts.

"Pity," he says mournfully.

"I'll fetch you more, my love," Arthur promises, taking Alfred's hand. "But let's go upstairs first."

The castle is always empty. Their footsteps echo around the marble walls like the patter of rainfall as Arthur leads the way across the deserted ballroom; this room, with its sky-high arched ceiling and sapphire-hung chandeliers, is bathed in blue radiance, bruised moonlight filtering in through the ornate stain-glass windowpanes (entire gardens of flowers and full forests of trees, watch-faces like full moons and thousands upon thousands of tiny spades, all crafted out of various blues). The floor is black and white and hasn't been waltzed on for decades.

Up the stairs they go, step after step after step to spiral tightly up twisting turrets, and along the hall with its blue carpet. One door lies open and the King and Queen of Spades pause at it to find their Jack hard at work. Wang Yao is a wonderful scribe and keeps keen and detailed records of their kingdom, including a precise log of the comings and goings of all of Arthur's newest acquisitions. The room about him is strewn with papers, all littered with neat Chinese characters in blue ink, and Yao kneels in the middle poring over an earlier logbook, his glossy ebony hair free about his shoulders.

"Yao," Arthur sings to him, making him look up. "I brought something you might be interested in."

Yao simply arches his eyebrows.

"More work for me, I expect," he says coolly.

Arthur grins.

"Perhaps," he says, "but I don't think you'll mind somehow. I caught the Queen of Hearts."

Yao's eyes widen.

"Kiku?" he breathes. "Honda Kiku?"

Arthur nods.

"Go down and see him, if you like. He's not going anywhere."

Yao rises, putting aside the book.

"What did he have on him?" he inquires, coming closer.

"A sword," Arthur says, "but Alfred will get that. A few books, too. I already ate one of them."

"I want the others," Yao demands.

"I thought you might say that. I'll have them sent up for you." Arthur hands Yao the basket, too. "In the meantime, help yourself. We already ate all the best ones, of course."

Yao smiles sourly.

"Of course," he agrees. "What else is hierarchy for, Your Majesty?"

"There are worse hierarchies to be part of," Arthur reasons mildly, pulling back.

He leads Alfred away without another word and Alfred is all too happy to go with him, for he finds Yao's job very boring (and Yao himself rather boring, too, in turn pining after and despising Honda Kiku for the things that he has done). Coming to their own chamber, Arthur gestures for Alfred to go in first and makes sure to lock the door behind them.

This is, as is proper, again in royal blue, the official colour of the Court of Spades. The carpet is thick and soft, the furniture is handsome carved oak with a blue mother-of-pearl finish, the lights here too are hung with cerulean gems so that flecks of blue fire flicker on the walls (which themselves are pale, almost the colour of indigo cream chocolates); blue velvet curtains hang at the window leading out to the balcony and the bed (king-sized for no less than a king, of course) is draped with midnight blue hangings, studded with silver stars, from the four posts and a royal blue eiderdown sewn with sapphires and gold thread. Irises, forget-me-nots, sky-coloured pansies and blue roses burst out of the beautiful old blue-and-white vase on the dresser.

"You've been gone a long time," Alfred says, pulling Arthur close enough to breathe him in. "I miss you, you know."

"I _do_ know," Arthur concedes, brushing his lips over Alfred's knuckles. "I miss you too, my love – but a kingdom cannot build itself."

"Who says I want a kingdom?" Alfred asks fiercely, taking Arthur in his arms and consuming his throat.

"Well, you won't be much of a king without one," Arthur says gently; he arches under Alfred's mouth, reaching up to take off his top hat with its trailing ribbons.

"Perhaps not," Alfred reasons, "but I _do_ still have a queen."

He lifts Arthur entirely, easily, and carries him to the bed; Arthur drops his hat over the edge of it as Alfred gently lays him on the sheets and clambers over him. They kiss – and kiss again, clothing shed between fierce presses of lips, between quiet and hungry touches over curves and into dips. They are dominant, victorious, and so they are allowed this small privilege. They are not captives (though captiv_ated_, instead, by one another at times like these, where Arthur's obsession is allowed to wallow in full ugly bloom and Alfred has no idea why he should be revulsed).

At length, they are both naked and impossibly entangled and Alfred's shoulders heave with the effort of his desperate and clumsy lovemaking (though it is the clumsiness of a king, of course, and therefore still right and regal), his hair bright against his scrunched brow and his every smooth slope of muscle shining with the sort of sweat royalty should never break. The only thing remaining between them is the blue spade threaded on a silver chain around Arthur's neck, glowing against his pale chest. Alfred pays it little heed whilst he is otherwise engaged but in time, afterwards, it will undoubtedly pique his curiosity – and Arthur will hide it with his hand and smile. These are his own treasures and though he has many of them, one from each of his pretty prisoners, this one is by far his favourite, his most precious. There is the entire swell of a deep universe captured inside its tiny expanse, superpower potential and a disgust which once threw off the shackles of king and crown.

True enough, lying his side and panting afterwards, still smiling in the afterglow, Alfred reaches for the glittering spade as he always does – and Arthur plucks it out of his reach with the act of being bashful.

"What _is_ that, Arthur?" Alfred asks, obediently taking his arm back and pillowing it under the side of his head. "Why can't I eat it?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, my darling," Arthur replies lightly, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead. "Nothing at all."

Alfred frowns.

"The queen shouldn't keep secrets from the king," he says reproachfully.

"Mm." Arthur reaches for the blue silk robe at his bedside and slips it on. "Nonetheless, you'll just have to let me do my job. I need to reap my own little rewards, do I not?"

"Maybe... I'll _make_ you tell me," Alfred says, grabbing at Arthur and wrestling him to the mattress amidst a squeal and a few kicks. "How about _that_, huh?"

"Talk of torture, Mr Jones?" Arthur grins up at him. "I don't think you have it in you."

Alfred sighs in agreement.

"You're right," he says. "I'm too nice." He continues to effortlessly hold Arthur down, however. "I still think you're being a bad queen, though."

"Of course I'm a bad queen. I'm a man."

Alfred laughs and rolls off him.

"Fine, fine," he says. "But you better sleep with one eye open or I'm gonna have that jewel as a midnight snack."

"Are you hungry, my love?" Arthur asks, sitting up. He pulls his robe tighter around himself, shielding the gem from Alfred's greedy gaze, and slides off the bed, going to fetch the sword. He had it sent on ahead up to their chamber, anticipating that Alfred's appetite would not stay sated by simple stars for long.

He lifts it from the desk, casting off the blue silk it is wrapped in, and brings it back to present it to Alfred – who is sitting up with interest now, night-sky sheets pooled at his waist. He puts on his glasses again to look over it, taking its substantial weight from his queen's hands. It is a traditional Japanese affair, longer than a katana with a blade which gleams like a mirror, seeming to sing through the very air as Alfred examines it.

"This was Kiku's?" he asks, turning the sword this way and that. "He fought with it?"

"Yes. I took it from him when I captured him." Arthur watches Alfred taste the blade. "Be careful, it's awfully sharp. Nothing but the best for the Queen of Hearts."

"I'll be the judge of that," Alfred tuts; and he sinks his teeth into the sword, ripping a bite out of it. He chews for a long moment, assessing the flavour, before swallowing and giving Arthur a thumbs-up. "Yeah, it's good. Great job, queenie."

"Yes, well, just make sure you chew it properly," Arthur sighs. "Don't go cutting your stomach to ribbons."

He kisses Alfred on the cheek and slips off the bed again to allow his king to finish his meal in peace. He creeps instead to his discarded coat, burrowing into the pocket for his newest trinket; out comes the scarlet heart-shaped gem between thumb and forefinger, blushing furiously against his skin. He presses it against his palm as he searches again for the coiled key to the drawer, hooking that out too before rising and going to the dresser.

He steals a glance at Alfred and, satisfied in finding him otherwise occupied (tearing the Queen of Hearts' sword apart as he devours it), turns his back on him to unlock the drawer and quietly slide it open. The only thing in here is the small, carved wooden box, which he lifts out and places atop the dresser, unclasping it. The liquid rainbow glow of its innards blaze warm on his face as he lifts the lid, greens and yellows and now the red as he drops it in—

But no blue. These jewels are the plunder plucked from the hearts of his prisoners, the most precious thing about them, more so than their bodies or their ranks or their Suits. These hold their minds and their memories and as long as he has them, his captives are his to keep.

His own is still inside him, of course; as is Yao's in him, though the Queen plans to relieve him of it once he has outworn his use. Alfred's, meanwhile, hangs around his neck for safekeeping.

(Of course, he keeps his king closest to his heart.)

They bubble around his hands as he splays through them, their smooth and cool edges hard against his battle-worn skin as they trickle over his fingertips. This is the one thing he keeps for himself. Alfred will have the world but _he'll_ still have his glittering mementos of what that power tastes like.

That will be all he needs.

"Arthur, come back to bed." Alfred rolls over onto his side, looking at him. He has an absent handful of the sheets in his fist, his tongue licking the fingers of his other hand clean after his meal of Kiku's stolen sword.

"Are you finished already?" Arthur asks absently, closing the box again and putting it back in the drawer; this he locks once more with a sharp flick of his wrist, turning back to Alfred.

"Yes." Alfred stretches out his arms. "Come back, my beautiful queen, and keep me company."

"Well," Arthur sighs, sounding dreadfully put upon as he crosses back to the bed, "I suppose I can't say no to a request like that – such sound reasoning."

"Tch." Alfred gathers him into his arms again, lifting him into his lap. "It's perfectly sound. You're so easily distracted sometimes." He sighs, resting his chin on Arthur's shoulder as he wraps his arms around his queen's waist. "I wish you didn't have to leave so much. It's so lonely without you."

"Alfred—"

"I know, I _know_ what you're going to say." Alfred buries his face against Arthur's neck. "But I just want to be with you. How much longer is it going to take, Arthur?"

Arthur smiles, his king's heart hanging next to his own, and strokes his golder-than-gold hair.

"Patience, my love," he replies.

* * *

'Patience' is the name in the UK for the game 'Solitaire'. c whut i did thar lololol im so clever

This actually took me about five days to write and I blame it entirely on my titling it _Solitaire_ – because it made me think "Wow, I haven't played Solitaire (on the computer) for YEARS!" and then I spent like three hours playing it. Turns out I'm _terrible_ at it.

_Shatter_? _Pangaea_? _Down Will Come Baby_? _Something Wicked This Way Comes_? What are all these things? XD

RR xXx


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